Deconstructing the Story of Life

Nothing captures the essence of human existence quite as well as the story. We understand in stories. We communicate in stories. We buy and sell on the basis of stories. We calculate math and teach science in stories. We explain the meaning of life in stories. Not all of us see, many cannot hear, some of us can’t speak, and any of us at some point may lose the ability to smell, taste, or feel . . . but we all share the ability to understand the world in stories.

Our lives have a beginning, a middle—filled with conflict, joys, sorrows, subplots, victories, and disappointments—and an end . . . and, perhaps, an ever after.

That’s the thing about stories: they don’t simply end. They leave us feeling a certain way or expecting a sense of harmony or bemoaning the tragedy of unending chaos and suffering . . . or waiting for a sequel, a prequel, and a director’s cut. We see everything as part of a story, and the stories are never finished. There’s always a backstory waiting to be told, and there’s always a lesson still to be learned.

But, the universe doesn’t exist in stories, that’s just a function of human perception. We instinctually convert all data into stories, but if we didn’t exist, the universe would have no problem simply being.

It’s THIS reality—our need to take up a place of significance and thus to force the universe to exist on our terms—that demands a god. Even our stories require a capital-S Story to explain their existence, and the Story must have a Storyteller. It isn’t logic that requires a god, it is our innate obsession with story that requires a god.

But that makes no sense!

Yes. It makes no sense. The need for everything to make sense does not exist outside of the way we experience the world. Making sense is our logical-sounding way of saying something tells a tidy little story. If we weren’t constantly on patrol to force everything into our story-shaped boxes, no force in the universe would ever demand sense from a single atomic particle or any of the space between them.

So today, I ask myself (and I encourage you as well) to be aware of the urge to convert your existence into a narrative. Pay attention to how your inner narrator turns people (especially you) into the bad guy. See how your sense of conscience or shame seeks a strategy for proving yourself to be the good guy (or making up requirements for other to follow to ensure they can don the white hats they ought to be wearing). Watch as your mind interprets the most mundane occurrences into points of conflict. As you ponder the end of your or anyone’s story on this earth, observe that pulling sensation deep within your gut that draws you to explore this life in search of a sequel. None of these impulses are bad, per se, but they don’t always lead us to the truth. Being aware of our narrative instincts helps add the footnotes we need to see everything a bit more clearly.

I’m eternally grateful for our sense of story. We live, learn, and love via stories. But story is a lens, not the light . . . much less the law.